


Day 18 -- Fog

by MelayneSeahawk



Series: Blanket Forts 2006 [18]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-27
Updated: 2006-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:56:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelayneSeahawk/pseuds/MelayneSeahawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>winter on the other side of the world</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 18 -- Fog

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: http://community.livejournal.com/blanketforts/93079.html
> 
> day 18 is dedicated to the lovely people of waipukurau, hawke's bay, new zealand, for making a yank feel at home

Remus looked up at the sky and shivered. There was a fundamental wrongness to that sky and the trees beneath it: it was late July and yet it was foggy and cold, a chill that froze to the marrow of his bones and made him ache. The fog was thicker than clotted cream but it tasted _wrong_, of a different ocean on the other side of the world and wild, old magic that couldn't be tamed. The native witches and wizards relied on it heavily, but it set Remus' teeth on edge.

The fog only lifted when the sun went down, and Remus knew that when it did the stars would be wrong, too, crosses and eagles and swans rather than bears and dogs and hunters. Only the constant of the moon anchored him, and the irony made him grimace rather than smile. (Centaurus in his position to kill Lupus wasn't much appreciated, either.) It was fitting, though, for him to feel so lost, and he preferred this physical discomfort to the pain at home.

It had been Dumbledore's idea to get away, after that horrible week when he suddenly found himself without best friends and lover and home. The dead leaves and graying sky were driving him mad, and he couldn't admit that the myriad celebrations were only making it worse. He wanted to yell and scream and rage: how could they celebrate when three of his best friends were dead, the son of two in hiding, his lover in jail for a crime that was inconceivable for him to have committed? Dumbledore had looked at Remus' anger and pain and had seen only mourning for four friends and sadness about the boy. He had suggested a vacation with a twinkle in his eye, slipping Remus a Portkey to a tiny cottage outside of Waipukurau, New Zealand with a vegetable garden and a shed with a silver lock. Remus had taken it and prayed he would never look back.

At first, Remus had been happy; the weather was delightful, though it was a bit strange to have a warm Christmas and a January that didn't make him want to curl up under a blanket and sleep until spring. But the winter had still found him, and somehow it had been even worse than usual. He continued his research on the Antipodean Opaleye and the value of its scales in spellwork, but Remus began to long for smoky wizarding London and the feel of good Briton magic beneath his feet. He'd been no more able to forget halfway around the world than he had in the tiny Muggle London flat with the tetchy radiator and the world's best curry takeaway around the corner. Not even Maori paua shell warriors could keep away the ghosts that haunted him and filled his mind like fog. So, before either fog could clear, Remus owled his research to Dumbledore, packed his few belongings, and returned to London, drawn like a moth to the flame.


End file.
